


Running Up That Hill

by standard_deviant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:17:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/standard_deviant/pseuds/standard_deviant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who says only demons make deals?  In the events of After the War, Sam makes a deal with God.  God will erase Dean’s memories of Hell and his treatment of Sam.  But God will also erase Sam from all of Dean’s memories and his brother will be a stranger to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second story in a series. I'll post After the War (the first story in the series) soon, I swear. After the War takes place immediately after Season 4, Episode 1, then takes a canon departure. It's gonna feature the Dean we only got a glimpse of, Alistair's prodigy, so it goes without saying that graphic depictions of violence will feature prominently. I'm hopping back and forth between this and Come Running, but they should both be done in another week or two.

Dean was asleep in bed when Sam crept out the door. It was almost sunrise and he had somewhere to be. He grabbed his bag and Dean’s keys and headed out. When he reached the valley, he parked the Impala and began walking toward the waterfall. 

Enochian was a foreign language to him, but he chanted the keys as best he could. It took longer than he expected, but it worked. An angel appeared. Not Cas. Cas was not who he needed right now. The angel was unsmiling and for a moment, Sam thought he’d made a mistake. But this was for Dean who had suffered Hell, and Hell on Earth.

Sam found his voice. “I came here to make a deal”, he said. The angel laughed, then frowned. “I’m listening.”

Sam cleared his throat and tried to focus. “You can make people forget things. I need you to do that for my brother”. 

“For your brother? The same brother who served demons? The Winchester name is known above the Earth, just as it is known below it. What does your brother deserve but God’s most swift retribution? What would you give in return?”

It was hard to mask his anger. His abuse at Dean’s hands had worn him down. “ He’s made some mistakes, but he’s not evil and we both know it. He’s just...broken. If I were trapped in Hell, maybe I’d have done the same thing. Knowing what he’s done, the suffering he caused, is killing him and he doesn’t deserve that. I can’t watch him suffer like this.”

The angel folded his arms across his chest. “ I’ve yet to hear a proposal, Sam Winchester. If this boon is granted, what will be given in its stead?”

His hands began to tremble. Sam balled his hands into fists at his sides to stop the shaking. Everything in him resisted what he said next with tear stained cheeks and closed eyes. “Me.”

“I don’t understand”.

He turned his back to the angel and spoke. “Give us one week together, then erase me from his memory. Every terrible thing he did to me. And I’ll walk out of his life. And he’ll go back to being a hunter, cleaning up the evil messes God doesn’t see fit to dirty His hands with. And so will I”. 

The angel paced for some time, seemingly in deep thought. Just as Sam was dreaming of wringing his neck, he stopped.  
“One day. At this time tomorrow, you and your brother will become as strangers. But if you search for him, God will turn a blind eye to his suffering and he will remember his sins. Be true to your word, Sam Winchester or your brother’s suffering will be lain at your doorstep when you are judged.”

Sam ran and didn’t look back. He was out of breath when he reached the Impala. He drove like a bat out of hell, back to the motel. One day. Not enough time.  
*****

Dean was still asleep when he got back. There was always a chance that he was taking his life in his hands waking Dean. He still had vivid nightmares and he was a beast without enough sleep. But Sam wasn’t interested in wasting time. He put a quarter into the slot on Dean’s bed and pressed the massage button. In no time, Dean was awake. And he hadn’t started the day with that morose look on his face.

Sam grinned. “Get up. We’re going on a road trip”, he announced. Dean hurled a pillow at Sam. “This better be good”, he groaned, sitting up. “I was at the Playboy Mansion this time”.

Sam chuckled. “Dude, if you wanna stay here with your Playboy bunnies, go ahead. I’m going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame”.  
With that, Dean bolted out of bed and into the shower. Relief washed over Sam. For a change, his brother was in a good mood. He needed for it to stay that way. They were losing time already.

Unbuttoning his shirt, Sam took in the scar across his abdomen. Now a pale silvery pink, it had started as an angry red cross. It had hurt like hell the first time it got infected. He traced it, amazed at how there was no pain now. He had forgiven Dean for it a long time ago, but his brother refused to forgive himself.

He heard a sharp intake of breath from across the room. Shit. Dean was staring at him. At his scar. Quickly, Sam began to button his shirt. He felt like a little kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Dean didn’t need to see this. 

“Sorry”, Sam mumbled. For a minute, Dean looked at him with such shame and confusion, it broke his heart. Then stoic, hostile Dean was back. “Move your ass, Sam. I’m driving.”

They gathered their bags and left the motel in their rear view. Dean drove. Sam slept. He’d been up most of the night, going over the summoning chants, terrified of missing sunrise.  
*****

Sam’s head rested on his shoulder. It felt awkward and wrong. How could Sam even trust him enough to fall asleep on him? Dean cursed under his breath. He felt like a royal fucking failure every time he looked at Sam. 

Sam had that fucking peace. In his eyes. Almost like forgiveness. But his brother’s forgiveness was something Dean had no right to expect. He’d never ask for it. The idea itself was treason. 

With every smile, every friendly gesture, Sam devastated Dean. He was a monster, pure evil and why his brother let him live baffled him. Sometimes, when he woke in a cold sweat, screaming, he suspected Sam liked it better this way. It was more torturous for Dean.  
After Castiel had freed Sam and healed Dean as best he could, that was when the real hell started. When Dean realized what he’d done and what he’d lost. Sam drank. So did he. Sam didn’t sleep. It got so bad, Sam started to hallucinate. One night, he grabbed the keys and took off. 

Didn’t come back for days. When he came back, he sharpened his knives and cleaned his guns all day. But he slept at night. With his door locked and a chair against the door and a gun under his pillow, but still. He started to eat again. 

Eventually, he stopped carrying a gun everywhere when they were at the house. Then he’d even sit in the same room as Dean. But it took a whole month before he’d allow Dean within striking distance. Even then, Sam flinched if Dean moved too fast, sat too close or if he didn’t hear him coming. 

Through it all, Dean did everything he could to try and fix it. He kept his temper in check. Let Sam douse him with holy water whenever he needed to. Let Sam keep their arsenal in his room. Holed up in his own room when his presence scared Sam. Whistled when he came into a room, just so Sam would know he was there. 

After that, Sam told him to stop whistling. He moved the chair away from his bedroom door and unlocked it when he slept. Gave Dean half their weapons. Even sat on the same couch. And knowing he was regaining Sam’s trust should have been a mercy. But in its own way, that was worse.

He had to restrain himself from touching Sam. Running his fingers through Sam’s hair, pulling him close and saying sorry every way he knew how. Every day more light came back to Sam’s eyes. With every wound that healed and every brief smile that graced Sam’s face, Dean had to fight so much harder.  
*****

Sam stirred. Sometimes he talked in his sleep. Usually, it was “No” or “Don’t” or “Stop”. This time Sam murmured a sleepy “I love you”. Dean nearly drove into oncoming traffic.

Dean gritted his teeth. “Don’t”.

******

Dean had been giving him strange looks all day, but Sam didn’t care. Seeing Dean smile and laugh, for real, made his heart swell. Made him smile and laugh for real too. He pushed away thoughts of what it would cost them, how much he would pay tomorrow.  
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was everything they had expected and Dean could scarcely contain his excitement. After that, they had hit up “Night of 1000 Covers” at a local bar. Somewhere in between, they found a diner which had what Dean proclaimed were the second best cheeseburgers in the world, after he had already devoured chili cheese fries and a chocolate shake with blatant disregard for his own life. 

At some point, Dean was going to become suspicious. But he was having such a good time, it took longer than Sam thought. When Sam told him to pull into the Hilton, he was confused. Sam tried to be nonchalant. “Look, I already booked a room. It won’t kill us to stay somewhere nice for a change. But if you wanna stay somewhere with shitty water pressure and mysterious stains, I’m sure we can find something like that.”

Dean had stopped drumming along to AC/DC on the steering wheel. Now his eyes were laser focused on his brother. He could feel himself becoming defensive, angry, even a little scared. “Ya know, that’s just it Sam. This whole fucking day has been a little too nice. So why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”, he snarled.

Sam tried to laugh off his brother’s anxiety. “Normal people call it a vacation, Dean. And I know you’re dying to make a joke about spending the night in a Hilton, so let’s put this thing in park, skip the chick flick moment and have a good time”. 

Dean’s response was a mumbled “Christo” and throwing holy water in Sam’s face. Sam shoved his wet hair out of his face, sputtering, “You wanna get the silver dagger or should I?” Dean was silent, still watching Sam out of the corner of his eye. 

Sam unbuckled his seatbelt and went to get out of the car. Dean grabbed Sam’s forearm, dagger in hand. Things were going sideways a little, but Sam had expected this. He stared hard at Dean, and when he spoke, he sounded more sure of himself than he truly was. “Dude, you’re not actually gonna play Iron Chef on me with that thing. Nothing bad is gonna happen. Call Cas if you want”.

Dean loosened his grip slightly. He was still watching Sam like a hawk, weighing his options. And suddenly it dawned on Dean why Sam didn’t seem enthused about his brother with a knife, inches away from him. 

“Sorry”, he mumbled. And there it was again, that look anyone else, anyone who didn’t know him inside out and backwards would miss. Shame and confusion.

Sam chuckled and slapped his brother on the back. “Way to ruin the moment, man. Can we please check in now? I think our room has a hot tub”. They got out of the Impala and grabbed their bags.

The whole damn thing made Dean uneasy. No way this was leading up to something good. He was a monster. Sam was a good liar, but he hated him. He deserved whatever torture Sam threw at him.  
******  
The pretty redhead at the check-in desk smiled when she saw Sam. She came out from behind the massive desk and gave him a hug. She spoke with a lilting Irish brogue. “ You’re a sight for sore eyes, my boy. Staying out of trouble, I hope?”, she purred, laughing. The woman released him and her focus shifted to Dean. 

“You must be Sam’s partner. I booked you two the honeymoon suite. Any friend of Sam’s is a friend of mine. Deirdre Fitzpatrick,” she said by way of introduction, embracing Dean.

Sam cleared his throat. “Dee, this is Dean. My brother”. 

Deirdre laughed once more. “Just as well for him”. She cocked her head in Sam’s direction and looked at Dean, who was trying to regain his composure. “This one’ll break your heart if you give him half a chance”. She handed the room key to Sam and sent the boys on their way, promising to catch up with Sam tomorrow.

“You wanna explain what that was about?” Dean asked in the elevator. 

Sam grinned. “When you were gone, I helped Deirdre’s family break their curse. She was really...grateful. So was her brother. And you can stop making that face, ‘cause it wasn’t the same night”, he explained. 

Dean shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus. You think you know a guy. Guess some of my charm finally rubbed off on you, huh Sammy?”

They finally arrive on the fifteenth floor and found their room. There was indeed a hot tub, along with an icy bucket containing a bottle of champagne and a tray of chocolate covered strawberries. 

For a minute, Sam just stood there remembering. That howling, soul-destroying, can’t eat, can’t sleep hurt when he lost Dean. And more pain when Dean found him. Another scar sewn up hastily because for months he hadn’t fallen asleep with Dean wrapped around him breathing steady, dead to the world but still protecting him. Dean hadn’t offered and he almost couldn’t bring himself to ask.  
******

He wished he could hate Sam. But the void inside him wasn’t Sam’s fault, it was his own. He had gladly spilled Sam’s blood with his own hands. Castiel had given him a million reasons why it wasn’t his fault, but Dean refused to believe him. The instant he’d spilled his brothers blood, he had forfeited any right to Sam’s love and affection. It ate at him every goddamn day. More than anything, Dean wanted what they had before he died. But he couldn’t bring himself to touch Sam. It would hurt too much when Sam turned him away. 

******

Dean startled when he felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder. “Well, partner, you can stay here and stare at the wall all night, but that hot tub is calling my name”, he said slyly. Sam pulled off his shoes and socks, then took off his shirt. There was a splash as Sam settled in the water. 

As the jets massaged his back, Sam realized this was going to be a little harder than he thought. He’d have to swallow his pride and just ask. If Dean said no, well, he carried worse scars than rejection. And Dean would finally be free of what was slowly destroying him. 

Sam was half-asleep when Dean mustered up the courage to join him. “Why?” Sam opened his eyes and smiled. “There’s a long answer and a short one. Either way it’s gonna be a chick flick moment. Still wanna know?” Dean nodded. 

“I forgave you a long time ago--”. Dean winced and moved to get out of the tub. “I’m not done. You’re gonna sit here and listen until I’m finished. You owe me that, Dean”.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you couldn’t make me hate you. I forgave you and you don’t have to believe that, but it’s true. And watching you turn yourself inside out over what happened, watching you hate yourself, makes me sick. You never lost me, man.”  
Sam drew his brother close to him. Dean was pale, breathing hard.  
******

Blood rushing in his ears like the crash of waves on rocks, like an inferno. Can’t breathe. Heart beating like a jackhammer or maybe a grenade, pin just pulled out and itching to explode. Pins and needles, itching all over and he can’t get out of his skin. He has to push it away; it has to fade into the background if he’s going to get away.

Dean feels sick (desperate) sick (wrong) sick (bile) as he looks at Sam, eyes slit like a cats, stomach churning. Damned if he was gonna let Sam see him like this, feeling like a fucking strip mine inside. He can do this if he just stops shaking. So he concentrates and stands up and gets out of the tub. And everything he wants to say dies before he can open his mouth, so he wraps a towel around himself and turns his back on his brother and shuts the door.

He fumbles for his clothes, hears the faint sound of water splashing through the door. Tries to get dressed in a way that doesn’t seem frantic, but couldn’t be called anything else. Grabs the keys and Sam opens the door and fuck, he’s still going along with this bad joke he decided to inflict on Dean. Sam looks sad, nostalgic even, but serene and so fucking sincere Dean can’t look at him.  
“Nothing’s gonna save me”. It shouldn’t come out that strangled and it shouldn’t ring so true.  
******

Sam doesn’t even have the decency to look surprised. He just starts talking again like what just happened didn’t happen. “You don’t have to say anything. But listen; you’re gonna wake up tomorrow morning and I won’t be here. You won’t remember me. I made a deal and that was what it cost me and it’s worth it. Because you always took care of me and never made me believe you were meant for anything but that”. 

“I wanted more time with you, but this is all I got. And you’ve given more of yourself for me than I ever had a right to ask, but I gotta ask for one more thing. Believe me. And let me say goodbye”.

Dean’s eyes dart around the room because he does believe Sam and all the words he wants to say and thoughts he tries to hold onto are floating away and he’s a gaping wound. He wasn’t on his knees a minute ago, worn denim against expensive carpet and his eyes weren’t burning, tears weren’t coming. He chokes out a sound that is SamGodsorryhelpplease that gets muffled by Sam’s broad tanned chest, eaten up by Sam’s hot skin against his face, swallowed up by Sam’s steady heart beat, holding him like Sam’s arms are doing right now.

Sam rocks him and makes soothing noises, keeps telling him “I know” and “It’s okay” and then it is okay. Dean feels peace radiating from his brother, who is giving him a shy smile that starts behind those long girl eyelashes of his, looking ageless and brand new at the same time as he pulls them both into a standing position.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean downed another shot of bourbon and tried to ease the gnawing emptiness in his gut. It had been there ever since he woke up at the hotel in Cleveland. Something was missing and he’d gone over it a million times in his head, but he didn’t know what it was. It didn’t matter how many women he fucked or how many monsters he killed. He walked around feeling like someone had scooped out his soul.

For days after Cleveland, he'd had vivid dreams. He could never hold onto them when he woke up, not long enough to try and decipher any semblance of meaning from them. There was a man. There was always a man he couldn't place. It meant something. There was something he was supposed to figure out. He just didn't know what.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Dean’s eyes scanned the bar’s entrance, hunter’s instincts kicking in. He waited for something sinister and unnatural to make itself known. Nothing. Still, there was a feeling he couldn’t shake and couldn’t name. Until he walked in.

It was impossible not to notice him. He was 6’4 and built with shaggy brown hair and tanned skin. Unaccountably graceful for someone so gigantic. He carried himself like a soldier. Dean’s heart stopped. He couldn’t explain it, how he knew with everything he was that this stranger was the man who haunted his dreams. He ordered a double shot. 

The stranger walked over to the bar and started on the beer the bartender slid across the bar, accompanied by a shot of tequila. Dean’s skin prickled, as though the air were electrified. His hand fumbled for the amulet he wore around his neck. The man’s eyes were on him, not inspecting, but watching. He lingered for what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, finished his beer, slapped some bills on the bar and made his way toward the exit. 

A quick scan of the bar revealed the stranger was gone. He was relieved. He hated harpies. As soon as this job was done, he was gone.  
******  
Dean’s heart was pounding as he called Bobby. The man on the bed was shivering, teeth chattering, sweating buckets. He’d never seen harpies attack like that. Finally Bobby picked up.

“Bobby, I got a guy here, cut up real bad by a brood of harpies. How did I get the poison out?”

Bobby gave him a list of herbs and walked him through how to make a salve to apply to the wounds. When he hung up, Dean felt a little fear leave him. Everything came into focus. He had to protect this man and he didn’t know why.

The man’s shirt was shredded. Dean cut it off carefully. One by one, he removed the tips of the harpy claws from every wound. The guy’s arms and chest were covered in gouges from the attacks, except for one spot. A tattoo above his heart. A pentagram ringed in a circle of fire. Exactly like Dean’s. 

Dean placed a cool washcloth on the stranger’s forehead, brushing back his long golden brown hair. The last thing he wanted to do was abandon the guy, but there was no getting around it. He lay salt lines and left a note, a glass of water and some painkillers for the stranger.  
*****  
Any other day, Dean wouldn’t be caught dead in a health food store called Nature’s Touch, let alone breaking in. But he wasn’t going to find angelica, burdock and vervain at Safeway. He found what he needed, shoved it into his pockets and left.

As an afterthought, he stopped by a convenience store for chicken noodle soup, crackers and ginger ale. Being poisoned didn’t exactly make a stomach amenable to cheeseburgers and chili fries. When he arrived back at the motel, the stranger seemed to be sleeping. Dean felt a stab of panic and said a silent prayer the man wasn’t dead. 

He walked over to the bed and felt for a pulse. It was more erratic than it should be, but it was still there. Dean went to work boiling water and cutting pieces of gauze. The herbs found their way into the water. The end result was noxious, but Bobby had assured him it would work.  
*****  
He let the mixture cool for a bit before waking the man. The stranger’s eyes opened and he looked frantic. Dean tried to reassure him. “You’re safe, man. Those harpies got you pretty good, but chicks dig scars. You’re probably gonna do a good imitation of the Excorcist-”.

Dean shoved the garbage bin under the man’s head just before he vomited. Fifteen minutes later, he stopped. He made Dean uneasy. For a hunter, this man was too trusting. He let Dean coax him into eating a bowl of soup and having a shower. And this man felt familiar, like a word on the tip of his tongue.

The man sat up and tried to speak, but broke into a coughing fit. When he caught his breath, he rasped out his name. Sam Campbell. Once Sam was out of the woods, Dean would call Bobby to get some background on the guy.

“You saved my ass back there. I owe you”.

“Dean. Dean Winchester”, he offered, blushing as he shook Sam’s hand.

Sam was watching Dean intently. Dean’s phone rang, startling them both. After he finished with the call, they turned in. Dean tried in vain to get comfortable on the couch. He tried to think about something other than how badly he wanted to be pressed tight against Sam’s warm body, motel sheets scratching his skin. If he could have that, just once, maybe he’d have a day when he didn’t look into the mirror and see a hole nothing could ever fill.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angels are watching, and possibly scheming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life's been hectic. Here's the rest of the chapter. Anna and Gabriel guest star in this chapter.

Anna watched intently from the corner of a leather sectional sofa, a plate of raspberry chocolate cake perched on her lap. She could hardly be accused of indifference where the Winchesters were concerned, even before she’d allowed Dean to “cut himself a slice of angel food cake” as Uriel had put it crudely. She didn’t like Sam. She knew too much of his fate for that to be an option, but he had made this deal for Dean, and if anyone deserved to have their suffering relieved, it was the Righteous Man. 

Rhaziel knew of her history with Dean and had been reluctant to speak of the deal he had made with Sam, but she was still commander of the garrison. It was up to her to make sure things didn’t go too far. Free will was woven into Father’s plan, but certain events still had to take place. “I didn’t think you had it in you, baby sis. You’re a bit of a voyeur, you know that? Maybe you’re spending too much time with Cas. Gotta hand it to you though. Way more fun than the time Balthazar created that world without shrimp”, Gabriel teased, shoving a spoonful of chocolate sauce into his mouth.

Anna groaned. “Perv. I think you spent too much time pretending to be a pagan god. This isn’t exactly fun for me, Gabriel. Eventually Dean’s going to remember, and when he does, I don’t want Rhaziel storming in, all holy wrath, blaming Sam. Rhaziel doesn’t know there are certain strings attached to the deal he made. When Dean remembers, there’s going to be fallout. And lucky me, I get to help pick up the pieces”, she explained. 

Gabriel sat down beside her and stole a spoonful of cake. “Deano must really be something in the sack if you’re still so hung up on him that you haven’t touched your cake. I conjured it special for you, and what thanks do I get? Ungrateful brat”, he grumbled. 

Reddening, Anna punched Gabriel and tasted a forkful of cake. “Best conjured cake ever, Gabe. And I’m not hung up on him. The fate of the world rests on his shoulders. That’s totally different! I think you’re just bent out of shape because of your little crush on Sam”, she retorted. 

Gabriel protested. “Whoa there, princess. Anael, I do not-”

“wanna make little half-human fledglings with Sam? Yeah you do. And it’s Anna. Quiet, though. Something’s happening”, Anna insisted, fending off Gabriel’s pinching fingers.  
*****

Dean winced as the sunlight came through the cheap curtains, waking him. Sam stirred on the bed, mumbling nonsense. Dean stretched, his back protesting the movement after a night on the ancient and dubiously clean sofa. The springs had dug into him and he wasn’t entirely sure if the current state of the sofa was its original pattern or a collection of disgusting stains. Better not to think about it. 

He wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a cup of coffee. His stomach growled. Breakfast too, apparently. He sat up, causing a chorus of squeaking springs, but Sam didn’t stir. He decided to take a chance and grab that shower and was pleasantly surprised by half decent water pressure. 

When he emerged from the bathroom, he found that Sam was awake. Sam wasn’t just looking at him. Sam was looking at him with that look he’d seen in the eyes of so many bartenders and waitresses. A look he’d taken full advantage of. Though it was different in some way he couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

“So” Dean said shyly, breaking the silence, “I was thinking breakfast would be awesome right now. You’re not gonna puke again, are you?”

“No, I’m good. I guess the poison is still wearing off though. I feel like crap. Breakfast would be great, man. I think I saw an IHOP near the interstate”, Sam replied. He winced. His throat felt raw and his voice was hoarse.  
***** 

 

They slid into a booth and were greeted by a busty fake redhead named Candi. “What’ll y’all have?” she asked, twirling her hair and eyeing Dean like prey.

“ Big steak omelette, no question. There’s a whole steak in the middle of the omelette. Breakfast of champions”, Dean crowed triumphantly. 

“And I’ll have the Simple and Fit vegetable omelette with egg whites, please”.

Dean let out a laugh. “Dude. Gay.” Sam laughed. Once their coffee arrived, Dean launched into how he’d found the brood and some of his more colourful stories leading up to the hunt. If Sam didn’t know Dean, he’d be tempted to think he was lying. But he knew that if weird things were going to happen, they wouldn’t happen to anyone but Dean. Dean was talking to Sam, like a normal person, not like a stranger at all. He couldn’t feel Dean trying to figure out if he was lying, weighing how much to say and when to shut up.

Sam couldn’t breathe. Dean was happy. Dean was happy without him. And yeah, this was what he’d wished for. What he’d bargained for even. He wasn’t going to screw it up, because how often had they ever gotten exactly what they wanted? But this was too much for him, to be close to Dean and not have him. It was like living in one place your whole life, and one day, you come home and the locks have been changed.

It was irrational. He knew that. But what Sam kept coming back to was “this is Dean. This is him without the weight of loving me or trying to keep me safe”. And that knowing made the knots in his stomach tighten and his gut ache. 

“Are you alright? You look kinda pale”, Dean noted. 

Sam reached into his wallet and threw down money for the bill and a tip. “Yeah. Still recovering, I guess. I gotta go. Thanks for saving my ass. Take care of yourself”, he murmured, getting up from the table. 

Hunters were a weird bunch. Hell, he should know. Maybe it was the fact Sam had nearly died. Or maybe it was the damn flutter he’d felt in his stomach when he saw Sam watching him, but Dean had to follow him.

He scanned the parking lot for Sam, momentarily distracted by a pair of screaming children trailing behind their mother, then by an SUV which screeched past him. His eyes came to rest on the faded black paint of an old Chevy pick-up which he recognized as Sam’s truck.

Sam was in the driver’s seat. His head was in his hands, shoulders heaving. He was crying.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The center cannot hold. Things fall apart.

Dean had no idea what to say or do. He wasn’t good with crying people. When it came down to it, he wasn’t good with anything he couldn’t kill, except his car. He didn’t really know this man. What was he doing?

As Dean watched Sam speed out of the parking lot, he felt a twinge of guilt, then irritation. He was standing there looking like a schmuck, like some whimpering puppy at the pound. Fuck that. The hunt was over. He’d torched the abandoned theatre the harpies had been using as a nest. It was time to move on to the next hunt and put this place in his rearview.

*****

 

Angrily, Sam wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his flannel shirt and started the engine. He sped out of the parking lot and headed for the interstate. He should have known better. Hell, he did know better. Of course he’d run into Dean eventually. It was one thing to have made the bargain he did in the abstract. It was another thing entirely to come face to face with the full weight of its reality.

This was nothing like leaving for Stanford. He’d had to leave then, to get away from Dad, to try just once to be normal. He remembered the look on Dean’s face when he’d found the acceptance letter Sam was sure he had skilfully hidden. A hideous crumpled look like his whole life was going up in smoke, and why was that even a surprise? Because Dean could never step out of Dad’s shadow, never stop being John’s obedient soldier. Because that was the one thing he could do right. The only thing. And while the light of day and the safety of normal beckoned to Sam, it terrified Dean. It was a world with no use for him. 

Sam blew past mile markers and rundown gas stations. Two months without Dean. This is what it felt like: torching Dad’s corpse, watching Jess burn on the ceiling, shooting Madison in the heart. There was no undoing this. His only choice was to hold on as long as possible, living in the wreckage his decision had wrought for him.

When Dean was teaching Sam how to hustle, he’d taught Sam some of his own rules. His first rule had been “Don’t bet more than you can stand to lose”. Sam should have listened.  
*****

 

He was studying her. Her eyes were itchy, that’s all. That’s why they were watering. Except she was talking to Father. And she never talked to Him. Gabriel edged closer to the bench Anna was sitting on, still hidden by the trees, cherry blossoms in full bloom as always. “I don’t understand, Father. Why would you let me have my Grace back and still leave me with this, with all these emotions? Make me like Rhaziel. Or Uriel even. But I don’t know how to do Your will when all I can see is good people and the way they suffer. They hurt and they can’t find You and I don’t think I can sit back and let it all unfold. Please, Father, help me understand”, she pleaded, distraught.

Finally, Gabriel stepped out from behind the trees and sat down beside her. “ Kiddo, you don’t wanna be like Uriel. Trust me. He’s our brother, but if Dad didn’t insist we love each other, I’d hate him. Guy’s a dick. Lemme tell you something else”.

“What, Gabriel? That He works in mysterious ways?” Anna sniffled. 

“Nope. Actually, Dad’s ways aren’t all that mysterious. He wants you the way you are because this is how you were meant to be. I’m older than you, squirt. A lot older. I remember when Michael and Lucifer were thick as thieves. Giving us the kinda emotions He gave humans and giving us heavy artillery? Turns out it wasn’t the best idea He’s had. But the zombie patrol that’s around now? This is new. It wasn’t always like this. And if you’re not like them, He’s probably got something real interesting up His sleeve”.  
*****

 

Dean’s next hunt was a particularly vicious kelpie. When he’d pulled the last of the seaweed from his hair, he climbed in the Impala and headed for his motel room. After a quick shower, he headed to the nearest dive bar and picked up the first spandex clad babe he saw. She had a mouth like a Hoover and it was promising to be a great night. Until he called her Sam. 

“Who the fuck is Sam?”, she snarled, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

“No one baby. Forget about it”, he crooned. She got to her feet and glared at him. “No! No way am I helping you cheat on your girlfriend. Asshole!”, she retorted, slamming the door as she left.

Frustrated, Dean zipped up his jeans and reached for the flask he’d left beside the bed. He emptied it, pulled off his boots and lay back. This was a first. Never before had he managed to screw up getting a blow job. He shut his eyes and tried to put Sam out of his mind. Just like the night before, the dreams and the voice came.

“You cannot hide from your real life forever, Dean. You are not a whole person like this and you know that. Hold on next time, as though your life depends on it. Because it does. Your life and the lives of billions. There is work for you to do, and you cannot do it while hiding behind this veil. Everything you think you know is about to be torn asunder”. He woke in a cold sweat, heart racing. No light but the red numbers of the alarm clock and the pale yellow light streaming in from the parking lot.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation that's been brewing finally erupts. Anna kicks ass and takes names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with some of the details but The Long Walk of the Navajo (aka The Long Walk to Bosque Redondo) actually happened, and it sounds exceedingly shitty and not unlike the Trail of Tears. Look it up. The more you know, y'all. Knowledge is power *shooting star*

Rhaziel was glowering, his back to Anna. He didn’t take well to being reprimanded. “It’s out of your hands, Rhaziel. I don’t have time for your pettiness". 

“But Anael, Sam Winchester made a deal. He agreed to my terms”, Rhaziel protested.

When you make a deal this big, there are strings. The Winchesters are part of a larger plan. This has gone on long enough. Stay out of their way. I won’t tell you again. You’re dismissed,” she insisted.

He skulked away silently and Anna breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been dreading that conversation all morning. It was at that choice moment that Gabriel decided to pay his younger sister a visit.

“Hey cupcake-”

“And you! You cannot hide from your real life forever. Everything you think you know is about to be torn asunder. What was that?” she sighed, exasperated.

Gabriel shrugged. “ Hello? Divine Messenger. Sometimes a guy just feels like reliving the glory days. It’s not like it hurt anything”.

“Glory days, huh? And it has nothing to do with you wanting to scare the crap out of Dean. You just made my job a little harder. I’m going down there to come clean about this whole mess. Just, I don’t know, find someone else to play with for a little while”, Anna implored.

*****

 

Things came to a head a week later when Sam found himself in New Mexico. He was following up on a rash of violent murders which fit the bill for possessions. From what he’d been able to piece together, a set of ritual masks belonging to a Navajo medicine woman had been stolen from a local museum and a group of college students had gotten in over their heads, possessed by the spirits of the masks. 

He’d visited the local reservation to unearth whatever lore he could. When he’d explained that he planned to find the masks and return them to their rightful owners, and not the museum, the medicine man had been very willing to help him. It turned out that the medicine woman had been murdered during The Long Walk of the Navajo. She had intervened on the desecration of a burial ground. Her medicine bundle and the masks which she’d used to communicate with animal spirits had been seized and she had been shot and left by the side of the road.

It didn’t take Sam long to figure out a group of likely suspects. The local college had a small contingent of white hippies who were claiming Navajo ancestry, calling themselves shamans and basically getting together to smoke peyote while wearing tons of turquoise jewelry and trash talking the white colonial oppressor. They reminded him a little of his Stanford days and the herd of kombucha drinking crystal wearers he came across in his Indigenous Spiritualities course. A bunch of douches trying to co-opt other people’s heritage. He was going to enjoy reclaiming the masks from them.

*****

 

He needed to stay busy. He’d already cleaned and sharpened all his blades, and taken apart and cleaned all his guns twice this week. What real life was he supposed to be hiding from? What was he supposed to hold onto?

Dean hadn’t been sleeping well since that dream. He’d been hitting the bottle harder than usual, but it didn’t do much to help him sleep. He was grateful when Bobby gave him the heads up about a string of possessions in New Mexico. 

He’d managed to connect the possessions to a set of Navajo spirit masks stolen from a nearby museum. From there, he’d paid a visit to the closest Navajo reservation. Then things got weird. The medicine man said another man had come by asking questions about the masks and the medicine woman who had owned them. The description he gave to Dean sounded a lot like Sam.

*****

 

Dean had just finished paying for gas and a breakfast burrito. What he saw stopped him in his tracks. Sam. He ran out of the gas station, headed in Sam’s direction. Sam didn’t see him coming until Dean grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against a minivan. 

“You’re following me. Why are you here? Who the hell are you?” Dean demanded, grabbing the collar of Sam’s jacket.

“I’m not following you, man. I’m working a case, probably the same one you are. And when it’s over, I’m gone.”

“I don’t buy it. I see your face all the time. I know you from somewhere. Tell me who you are,” Dean snarled.

She appeared in what had moments before been empty space. “Let him go, Dean”, she demanded.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Wow, you sure know how to bruise a girl’s ego. My name’s Anna. I’m an angel of the Lord,” she reminded him. Dean looked skeptical. “You know Castiel, right? I’m a friend of his. And once upon a time, you and I kinda had a thing,” she said, blushing.

Anna turned her attention to Sam. “Hi Sam.”

He looked concerned. “Anna. It’s nice to see you. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not here as a harbinger of doom, are you? ”he queried. 

“No, not so much. I’m here because of the deal you made with Rhaziel. It looks like it turned out to be a lot harder to live with than you expected. When you Winchesters do self-sacrifice, you really go all out”, she replied.

Sam hung his head. “I didn’t think you knew about that. I didn’t think that anyone did. Rhaziel gives off an intense holy wrath vibe”.  
“Winchester? You said your name was Campbell”, Dean said, eyes narrowing. He reached into his jacket, scanned the parking lot and withdrew his gun. “I don’t have time for this Touched By An Angel crap. Somebody better start talking.”

Anna reached out and touched his forehead. “Enough, Dean. Remember”. The gun fell from his hand, and he stood there, looking stunned. 

Sam eyed him expectantly. Dean looked crestfallen. Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean shrugged it off. He looked close to tears. “Don’t touch me. I don’t know what you did, but I remember what I did to you. I gotta go,” he mumbled, picking up the gun. 

“No! Man, I’m not losing you again and I’m not giving you up. I felt like part of me died, making that deal, but I did it because you deserve to be happy. So you’re not walking out on me”, Sam vowed. 

Dean wouldn’t look at him, but he wasn’t walking away anymore. “You guys have a lot to talk about and I’ve got somewhere to be. Stay out of trouble. Dean, this is a gift. Most people would sell their mothers to find someone who loves them the way Sam loves you. Don’t throw it away because you won’t forgive yourself”, Anna advised. With a gust of wind, she was gone.

Dean turned to face Sam, eyes red and watery. “-’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry Sammy. I fucked up”, he lamented. Sam pulled him close. “I know. I messed up too. But I need you beside me. I’m never gonna stop loving you. Doesn’t matter what you do. I’m yours, Dean”.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not how we end. The boys try to reconcile. Easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay y'all, here's the rest of the chapter. Thanks for reading and thanks for sticking with me.

They sat silently, drinking their coffee at a Biggersons. Sam never could outlast Dean when it came to the silent treatment. “I did it for you. You know that, right? I wasn’t trying to get rid of you”. Dean nodded and continued drinking his coffee.

“Do me a favor, Sam. Next time you wanna make some fucked up deal with the douchebags upstairs and abandon me in a hotel room, don’t”, he muttered tersely. 

“You’re right. The next time I see you hanging on by a thread, ready to eat your gun, I should just back off and let you”, Sam retorted. Dean flinched like he’d been hit. “Screw you. I wasn’t-”

“You were. I know you, man. I know that look. Lie to yourself. I don’t care. But don’t lie to me, Dean”, Sam replied.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose like he always did when he was frustrated, angry or just plain out of patience or answers. “I came here to work a case, Sam. When it’s over, I’m gone”, he growled. 

Sam wasn’t going to get anywhere with Dean all hardheaded and defensive. “Fine. Let’s work the case,” he replied, pulling out his laptop. “So, I think I know where they’re stashing the masks. It’s not gonna be a standard exorcism though, since we’re dealing with a spirit not a demon. What’s our plan?”

*****

By the end of the day, they had returned the masks to the reservation. The college kids who’d stolen them would probably chalk things up to something extra in their peyote, once they came to, but no one had to die, so that was a plus. They went back to Sam’s motel room for celebratory beer and tried to make small talk.

It was hanging over them and Sam couldn’t stand it. “Today didn’t change anything, did it? You’re still leaving.” Dean shook his head.  


Sam could feel his jaw tense as panic started to rise within him. “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t you dare”, he demanded, pointing at Dean. 

“I’m not looking at you like anything”, Dean replied coolly, eyes narrowing. 

“You are. Like, here we go again, Sam’s a drama queen for having actual feelings. Like I’m inconveniencing you by asking you to talk to me. I’m not an asshole for asking you a simple question, man”.

“You want me to stay. I get that. But what’s there to stay for?” Dean wondered.

Sam heard more than felt the sharp intake of his own breath. He answered honestly. “I don’t know what you wanna hear. Sometimes, the sound of meat on a grill makes me wanna puke because I remember how my skin sounded like that meat. When I see a straight razor, I still break out in a sweat. The smell of blood mixed with hydrogen peroxide turns my stomach”.

Dean’s fists clenched tight, knuckles white, colour gone from his face. “That’s hard. All of it. But I live with it. You know, the hardest thing was seeing you when you didn’t remember me. Cos I thought to myself, “Look how happy he is without his burden. Without me.” If you’re leaving, I can’t stop you. But don’t tell me it’s cos I don’t want you, or cos I don’t love you, cos that’s a goddamn lie and we both know it”. 

“How do I know you’re not gonna hold it over me the rest of my life?” Dean asked, forlorn. He was aiming for noncommittal, but Sam could hear the waver in his voice, see the brief tremor in his hand. This was Dean laid bare and it made Sam’s heart ache.

“You don’t. All you have is my word, and no matter what I promise you, you’re not gonna believe me because you don’t think you deserve to be forgiven. You gotta believe me, Dean. If you don’t love me, then I’ll go. If you walk away, then I’ll walk away, but I’m not abandoning you again. I don’t have it in me”, Sam murmured. He stood up and a flicker of fear danced across Dean’s face as Sam came towards him. 

The fear was replaced with irritation when Sam’s warm hand came to rest on his back. “Back off, Sam”. Dean looked ready to take a swing at him, but he didn’t. “Screw you for doing this”.

*****

Sam wouldn’t back away. Not now. There was too much at stake. That was the story of their lives. There was always too much at stake. “Yeah, screw me. It’s still not your fault. This is not how we end” Sam vowed.

Dean’s stomach lurched and his body screamed at him to run. “I deserve it. If you wanted revenge, I deserve it for what I did to you. I swore to myself I’d keep you safe and I turned into the thing you were afraid of. That’s all I see when I look at you”, he confessed. 

Sam had to bite his lip to keep from completely losing what little composure he had left. His arms had a mind of their own as they wrapped around Dean. It was inevitable. Sam was a compass and Dean was north. It was that complicated and that simple. 

Dean struggled to get free. “Can I just have this with you one last time? You don’t have to stay, but let me say goodbye. Please,” Sam pleaded. 

That was all it took for Dean’s body to relax, to slump against Sam like he had wanted to do since before Cleveland. Sam smelled like salt water and the girly bergamot shampoo he liked. Dean had missed that more than he realized. He decided to take a risk. “You suck at goodbyes, Sammy. You could stay. If you wanted”. 

Sam gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, I guess I could. Ya know, you suck at goodbyes too, dude”, he teased. The somber look on Dean’s face made him pause. “You were never a burden. You hear me? Never”, Dean whispered, voice faltering as he pulled Sam tight against him. 

Sam nodded, his own voice failing him. “Let’s go to bed”, Dean said, pulling Sam toward the twin bed. And for the first time in far too long, Sam followed his brother without protest or complaint.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys reconnect on a road trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, Chuck was right about endings, and this isn't even the actual end, just the almost end. 
> 
> "Endings are hard. Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible. You try to tie up every loose end, but you never can. The fans are always gonna bitch. There's always gonna be holes. And since it's the ending, it's all supposed to add up to something. I'm telling you, they're a raging pain in the ass."  
> Chuck Shurley

Sam started awake, clammy and confused. Dean glanced over at him, but kept driving. “You alright?” Sam stretched, trying to brush off his lingering unease. “I’m good, just a bad dream. I thought you were gone”, he admitted. 

“I’m right here, Sammy. I’m not goin’ anywhere” Dean vowed.

They were on their way to Colorado. Sam had happily sold his truck and they’d left New Mexico without a second thought. They had reached a tentative agreement to take a weeklong vacation. 

Sam wished he didn’t need any reassurance. He needed to know that Dean would stay for good, but there was no buying that kind of certainty. Dean reached out and tousled Sam’s hair. “Relax, Sam. You’re thinkin so loud you’re givin me a headache”, he said, turning up his Motorhead tape.

“Sorry man. It’s just kinda weird, you know”. 

Dean snickered. “It’s not really. We’ve been in weirder situations for ten years running. You remember the first time we were in Colorado?”

*****

 

It was July. Sam was thirteen and John caught a case in Jefferson. They were at a ranch hunting banshees, who had been luring ranch hands and leaving their strangled corpses in the pasture where the horses grazed. A few of the hands had sworn they’d seen a blonde woman wandering the clearing late at night and heard her crying, but they’d been half in the bag, and weren’t exactly reliable witnesses.

The man who owned the ranch had a daughter, Jolene. She was a pretty brunette with legs up to her neck, whip smart and she wasn’t afraid to get dirty. The minute she saw Dean, she wanted him. She flirted her way into marksmanship lessons with him and pretended to be a worse shot than she was. 

He’d seen Dean kissing her up against the side of the barn and coils of jealousy and shame unfurled in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be jealous of her. He wasn’t supposed to want Dean to be kissing him like that. 

Early one night, Dean had blown him off to see Jolene. It was spoiled and selfish, but he wanted to know. What was so much better than him? How come, all of a sudden, Dean couldn’t wait to get away from him?

When Dean left, Sam followed him from a distance. Jolene was waiting outside the barn. They went inside and Sam went in after them. It was quiet for a while and he started to feel stupid. They were probably just drinking or smoking a joint, neither of which were particularly interesting to him. He’d gotten all worked up for nothing.

But then he heard noises. The kind of noises he’d only ever heard in passing when it was late and Dean thought he was asleep and put on a skin flick. It was never for more than a few minutes before he switched to some infomercial or an old horror flick, because Sam was never what you’d call a heavy sleeper. 

Sam knew what those noises were. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t need to. His skin felt hot and tight like the day after a sunburn. He crept out of the barn and ran back to the cabin. The boys were sharing a pullout couch in the old ranchers cabin. John was out, probably at a nearby bar the ranchers liked to frequent. He’d call it research. Sam knew what it really was. 

Dean came to bed smelling like hay and some fruity perfume. Sam’s mouth tasted like metal and something terrible that he couldn’t name. When they were leaving the ranch, the banshees had been burned to piles of ash. That’s what it was. Jealousy and Sam’s mouth tasted like ash and things that weren’t supposed to be real. The Impala stirred up dust and Sam told himself that what he was feeling wasn’t going to last. As smart as he was, even at thirteen, he wasn’t so sure it was true.

*****

They made good time getting to Boulder. Normally, on a night without a case, they’d be hustling pool or at a bar, but the day had been too damn long and the couch in their motel room was too tempting to pass up. They channel surfed for a good movie, bypassing Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Dean had never said it, but since the incident where the Benders had taken Sam, he couldn’t stand to watch it.

Two bags of popcorn and a six pack later, Sam was pressed tight against Dean’s chest, listening to his heart. The movie had long since ended and neither of them had bothered to change the channel from the power juicer infomercial that was playing on a loop. Dean’s fingers ran lazily through Sam’s hair and Sam let out a contented sigh.

“I thought we were never gonna get to do this again. So, uh, what did you do when you were gone?” Sam asked.

“The usual. Saving people, hunting things. It wasn’t all lap dances and cheeseburgers, man. I wasn’t on vacation”, Dean replied.

“You really know how to fill in the blanks. It wasn’t an accusation” Sam teased.

Dean stiffened. “You tryin to ask me something, Sammy?”

Sam shifted against him and tried to tamp down the sliver of unease that prickled against the back of his neck. “After you saved me from those harpies, when we were at IHOP, you were telling me some stories. I don’t wanna walk around knowing there are these holes in our life where I don’t know what happened because I walked out, alright?” Sam said tersely.

He heard Dean’s heartbeat slow under him. When Dean spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. “I dreamed about you. All the time. Couldn’t remember who you were, but I saw you. I knew you were important. I thought I was finally losing it. You’re hard to forget.”

Sam shifted against Dean and they both sat up. This wasn’t the kind of conversation Sam wanted to have when he was eye level with Dean’s nipples. He wanted Dean to look at him. He wanted Dean to really see him. “I never forgot you either. It was all I could do not to look for you, but I couldn’t take that risk. I didn’t know what you remembered or if you were safe, until we crossed paths that night.”

Whatever easiness the night had spun around them was unraveling fast. Dean looked harried and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You never said why, not really. You didn’t tell me why you made that deal”, he murmured.

“Hey, look at me for a sec. I wanted to protect you and I wanted you to be happy. That’s what you always did for me. I saw a chance and I took it, and I regretted it like you wouldn’t believe because it tore me up in ways I can’t say, but it was the right thing to do because it gave you some peace.”

Dean was looking at him, alright, and he looked exhausted and frayed at the edges, but there was still a ferocity to his voice. “That’s not your job, Sam. Never was and it never will be. And it wasn’t your chance to take. I take care of us. Always.”

“I was scared, man. I could see the light leaving your eyes a little more every day and I didn’t know how to let that happen.”

There was a brokenness written on Dean’s face that Sam hadn’t seen since the night he died. It made the lump in his throat swell as he tried to make Dean understand. “I’m not a kid anymore, Dean. You have to let me take care of you sometimes. If I see you drowning, you can’t expect me to sit and watch. I lost everything. I won’t ever let myself lose you.”

Dean was hunched in on himself, silent. “I know you probably think I’m a giant girl right now, feeling my feelings all over you. But I love you like crazy and that’s not ever gonna change. You’re the one. God, I’d marry you if I could.”

Suddenly, Dean was a lot less silent, a look of utter incredulity on his face. “You’re not serious. Are you growing a vag like right now?”

Sam flushed, but he straightened up. “ I’m serious, Dean. I wanna be yours and I want you to be mine”, he admitted.

Dean was genuinely confused. “You are and I am. I don’t get how that’s any different than what we have now.”

Sam huffed in frustration. “I want something special, some mark or symbol or something. I tell you that I wanna spend the rest of my life with you and you look at me like I’m a hydra. Nevermind. I won’t bring it up again,” he muttered, chagrined. 

“I’m not saying no, dude. So what, like tattoos or something? You already have a design or something, don’t you?” Dean replied.

A blush swept over Sam’s cheeks and his bitchface went away. “Maybe”.

Dean struggled to wipe the grin off his face. “You actually sat down and thought about this for more than five minutes. Okay, fair warning: if you have some lace covered scrapbook with fabric samples, I’m leaving”. 

Sam gave him a withering stare. “No. There’s no scrapbook. Is that a yes? Because it sounded like the world’s most half-assed yes.”

Dean got down on one knee. “Sam Winchester, bitch to my jerk, rock salt to my shotgun, will you marry me?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're not going to have a happily ever after. They're Winchesters after all. And they get as close to happily ever as Winchesters can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, bitches! Here it is in all its glory. Thanks for sticking with me.

The sky was awash with lightning and the wind shook the shutters of their suite in the clapboard house. It wasn’t California. Dean had insisted on that. It had started a fight. If he could avoid it, he didn’t want to spend a minute in the place Sam left him for. So they had found their way to Oregon and wisely decided to pretend the fight had never happened.

Sam was nestled in a queen size bed big enough to fit all of his gigantic body. Dean overlooked the shameful fact that they were in a B & B solely because of the bed and the look of utter joy that appeared on Sam’s face when he saw it. Sam was exhausted and just this once, Dean gave himself a pass to watch him sleep. To watch his husband sleep.

Anna had been right. He was lucky, so damn lucky to have this. To have the naked unconditional love of a man who he knew in his gut would never stop fighting for them, would walk the earth if it was nothing but a barren shell to get back to him. 

It terrified him to admit it, but he had always been so sure that he wanted and needed Sam more than Sam wanted or needed him. And he would deny that it scared him even a little, but he knew that he would do anything for Sam. Dean would do for Sam things he could never justify doing for himself because he didn't know how to stop. 

That Sam had asked for this meant more to Dean than he could ever let on. Sam wanted words for them, a way to claim Dean that wouldn't fade or be erased. Sam chose him. After years of Dean choosing Sam, Sam finally chose him. 

The skin above his right hip had finally stopped itching. They settled on runes. Ehwaz, the marriage rune and the runes for each other's initals below it. No getting out of this now, even if he wanted to. And that was what made a small squall of panic stir inside him. He didn’t want out.

Sometimes, Sam talked in his sleep. It was almost always nonsense, but every now and then it was a real, honest to God, wake up in a cold sweat nightmare, like the ones he’d had before his powers manifested. It made Dean’s heart clench every damn time. Didn’t matter that Yellow Eyes was dead and Sam wasn’t. What was dead didn’t always stay dead.

“No...Don't touch him”, he mumbled, flailing against the sheets. Dean turned on the desk lamp and made his way over to the bed. He shook Sam gently. “ Sam. Sam, baby, wake up. C'mon, it's just a bad dream”, he reassured.

Sam’s skin was hot and clammy against his own. He was shaken and on the verge of tears as he sat up. “I didn’t see you. Thought he took you. I tried and I couldn’t—I couldn’t get to you. I lose everything, Dean. I lose everyone I love. It all slips through my fingers.”

“Listen to me. Nobody took me. You’re not losing me. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not gonna let anything happen to you”. Dean carded a hand through Sam’s hair and held him tighter. And he hoped like hell that he wasn’t wrong.

Sam shook his head and rubbed at his damp eyes. “Something bad is gonna happen, Dean. I don’t get to keep you. I don’t deserve this.”

The panic Dean had been fighting was starting to build and he had to push it down, force himself to be calm, to be the fortress he’d always been for Sam. It was a struggle. Sam wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t already thought himself. There was a real possibility that they weren’t going to last, that what they had would end in blood and bone and wrenching, impossible loss. But sometimes, Dean let himself believe that it was enough, that his penance was done and maybe, just maybe, he could have what he’d wanted so desperately without having to lie or cheat or steal to hold onto it. 

Dean’s heart was jackhammering inside him. He wanted to take Sam and run, go somewhere safe. But there was no such thing. “I won’t let anyone else have you, Sammy. We bled for this. We get to keep it, alright? I don’t care if the damn world has to burn, I’m keeping you”, he vowed, clutching Sam to him.  


Sam winced. “Dean, too tight. You’re hurting me, man.”  


“I know you’re scared, but don’t ever do that to me again. Don’t talk like I don’t know everything that could go wrong. I know what it cost us to get here and I don’t wanna hear about how it’ll all go up in smoke tomorrow. Promise me”, he demanded, reluctantly loosening his hold on Sam.  


Sam nodded and swallowed the tears that threatened to spill. “I promise.”  


They sat like that for a long time, in the dim light, Sam’s head on Dean’s shoulder, listening to the even sound of his brother’s breath. Not for the first time or the last, the threat of the unknown hanging over them. Sam’s biceps would be bruised the next day and the flicker of fear in Dean’s belly wouldn’t go away, though it shrank when he reached for the gun under his pillow. They would do what they’d always done, hope that this time, the life they were building was on concrete instead of sand, and do their best not to be surprised when it all went to hell again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real and it was theirs. On a good day, they had learned how to make the terrifying vastness of the world seem unimportant compared to the world they found in each other’s arms.


End file.
